


Five Black Jars

by Edonohana



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana
Summary: The Cut-Wife gives Vanessa another test.





	Five Black Jars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



Vanessa and the Cut-Wife knelt on the floor of the cottage, with a wooden bench between them. Vanessa examined the five identical jars that had been set before her. They were of rough clay glazed black, squat and ominous. She reached out and ran her finger over the nearest one. It was gritty as sand. 

“Why the glaze?” asked the Cut-Wife.

“So the clay won’t defile the contents, nor the contents the clay,” Vanessa replied. 

She supposed her answer had been satisfactory, for the Cut-Wife merely said, “Open them, girl.”

There was probably another test in which she chose first. Vanessa started from the right end, the direction of Hebrew writing or widdershins or a person trying to do the unexpected. The Cut-Wife grunted, but said nothing more.

A powder of a deep and brilliant blue, with a scent of bitter almonds. “Cyanide.”

A dark green powder with a strong and disagreeable odor. “Valerian.”

A blood-red liquid with no detectable smell. Vanessa puzzled over it and tipped the jar back and forth to see its consistency. It was thicker than water. She didn’t want to touch it without knowing what it was. It might be acid. Finally, she moved on.

A gray-green powder, smelling slightly acrid and slightly sweet: “Coltsfoot.”

A slippery green paste with a sharp herbal scent. “Comfrey ointment.”

Vanessa returned to the jar of red liquid, once again sniffing it. No smell. Trying not to grit her teeth, she took a drop on her finger and rubbed it. It was thick, syrupy, and stained her skin. But she had no more clue what it was, and she dared not taste it.

“Well?” asked Vanessa at last. “Do I pass, having known all but one? Or do I fail, not knowing the one?”

The Cut-Wife shrugged. “You have five jars before you, four known, one unknown. What will you do with them?” 

She could do so much. She could scoop a little comfrey ointment on to her fingers, and bid the Cut-Wife disrobe so she could massage her aching joints. She could blow the cyanide into the Cut-Wife’s face, and watch her choke and die. 

Vanessa dipped her finger into the middle jar, the jar closest to her heart, the jar of liquid red as blood. It might be medicine. It might be poison. It might be a potion to send the soul to Heaven or Hell. 

She rubbed it over her lips, then leaned across the bench and kissed the Cut-Wife full on the mouth. Her lips were dry and soft, and she did not pull away. When Vanessa finally drew back, she saw her scarlet imprint on the older woman’s mouth. It did not make her look young again. 

“Shall I lick my lips?” asked Vanessa. “Shall I lick yours?”

“Little scorpion,” sighed the Cut-Wife, and Vanessa could not tell if she spoke in approval or despair. 

They knelt in silence, lips red as sweet raspberries or deadly yew. In the back of her mind, Vanessa heard the faint dry rattle of a scorpion’s tail. She knew not whether she was the poison or the potion, the jar or its contents. But whichever she was, the Cut-Wife had taken her in, into home and body and heart.


End file.
